


i taste on your lips the feverish fits

by ohhgreywarden



Series: complainte de la butte [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (for Ferdinand), Dorothea has BAGGAGE about sex, F/M, First Time, I can't believe it's this long lol, I guess this qualifies as PWP, Loss of Virginity, Love Confessions, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Tender Sex, mentions of past... I guess it could be classified as sex work, route not specified, this is just like 5k words of emotions with sex thrown in for good measure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhgreywarden/pseuds/ohhgreywarden
Summary: In which Dorothea finally lets all of her walls down around Ferdinand.Ferdinand is sitting on Dorothea’s bed.He knew it would come to this one day. Their courtship was the first thing to bring him genuine happiness since the war began, and he was fairly certain that Dorothea could say the same. He had even shared a bed with her before, sleeping in each other’s arms when they could not bear to be alone.Still, none of that prepared him for how nervous and exhilarated he would be as he sits upon her bed now.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault
Series: complainte de la butte [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904029
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	i taste on your lips the feverish fits

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow-up fic to [Make the Wretched Sigh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26217526), although it's not strictly necessary to read that to understand what's happening here since it's essentially PWP with feelings. It does help set the stage for where they are in their relationship in this fic, though.
> 
> The title for this one also comes from [Complainte de la Butte](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5plwp0gzPRI). It's usually translated from French to English differently but I like my translation better haha.
> 
> Thanks once again to [roxyryoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxyryoko) for the beta!
> 
> Happy belated birthday, Dorothea!

Ferdinand is sitting on Dorothea’s bed.

He knew it would come to this one day. Their courtship was the first thing to bring him genuine happiness since the war began, and he was fairly certain that Dorothea could say the same. Since their first kiss, they had become increasingly physical with one another, and Ferdinand often found himself needing to touch himself after their encounters, sighing Dorothea’s name like a prayer as he did so.

He had even shared a bed with her before, sleeping in each other’s arms when they could not bear to be alone.

Still, none of that prepared him for how nervous and exhilarated he would be as he sits upon her bed now.

Dorothea bolts the door behind them and spins around dramatically. She walks toward Ferdinand with a playful smile and climbs into his lap once she reaches the bed. He gasps and she chuckles. Neither the smile nor the laughter reach her eyes.

“Oh my, you are excited, aren’t you,” she breathes against his lips before kissing him.

Ferdinand does not kiss her back, not yet, and Dorothea pulls back with a frown.

“Is something the matter, Ferdie?”

“You looked sad,” he says. “If you do not wish to proceed, I understand.”

Dorothea laughs, her eyes still sullen. “Of course I _wish to proceed_. I invited you, didn’t I?”

She leans in to kiss him again, but Ferdinand stops her with a gloved hand.

“You do not need to pretend, Dorothea. If this is not what you want…”

With a sigh, Dorothea leans back, linking her hands behind Ferdinand’s neck to keep herself from falling. “I suppose you’ve always been more perceptive than I expected. It’s not that I don’t want this, it’s just… I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing with you.”

“Oh.” Ferdinand’s heart sinks; he should have expected something like this. 

But Dorothea winces and shakes her head. “No, no, that came out wrong. I do want to be with you, I’ve just never slept with someone just because I cared about them before. It’s always been to get something I wanted. That’s all.”

“I had no idea…”

Dorothea casts her eyes down with a sigh. “Surely you heard the rumors when we were students. About how I was only there because I had curried favor with a noble?”

He nods, frowning slightly. “I assumed those rumors to be no more than idle gossip intended to tarnish your reputation.”

“Well, it’s true. He paid for me to take the entrance exams, and in return, I… I performed sexual favors for him.” She sighs again. “I hope this doesn’t make you think any less of me.”

Ferdinand lifts Dorothea’s chin until he can look her in the eye. There are a few tiny tears clinging to the long lashes framing her emerald eyes, and Ferdinand resists the impulse to kiss them away. He cannot remember why he once thought such rumors could sully her.

“Why would I think less of you when you did nothing wrong? If there is anyone I should judge, it is that man, or the academy itself for setting the price of admission so high.”

“Oh, Ferdie,” Dorothea says, bringing a hand to cradle his cheek, “if only more people thought like you.”

He is unsure how to respond; _“I wish more people thought as I do as well”_ seems entirely too self-absorbed. Instead of speaking, he opts to gently pull her hand from his cheek and kiss her knuckles. This seems to be the right choice, as Dorothea reacts with a small but radiant smile. Her eyes drop to his lips.

“I want you, Ferdie,” she murmurs, pressing her forehead against his. “Let me make you feel good.”

She kisses him again, surprisingly chaste considering she is still straddling his lap but full of more warmth than before. The kiss and her words send an electric jolt through his body. He threads his fingers in the hair at the back of her neck and pulls her closer. A tiny moan escapes her, vibrating from her lips through Ferdinand’s entire being.

But something is still not quite right. Ferdinand reluctantly breaks away from the kiss.

“Dorothea, please do not focus only on my pleasure,” he says quietly. Her half-lidded gaze softens with mild surprise. “You said you have never been with someone whom you cared about before. Let me show you what it is to be with someone who truly cherishes _you_.”

With a choked-off laugh, Dorothea buries her face against Ferdinand’s shoulder. “You’re going to make me cry, Ferdie.”

He strokes her hair gently. “Tears of joy, I hope.”

“Something like that,” she says as she straightens once more.

Indeed, she has started to cry. Ferdinand watches a tear slide down her cheek and past her ever-so-slightly upturned lips.

Ferdinand has always been a faithful man, as is typical of the nobles of Fódlan, but no sermon or song about the Goddess has ever inspired in him such devotion as the reverence in Dorothea’s eyes as she gazes into his. He has never been so moved to worship as he is by the woman in his arms. _I thought you were a water nymph,_ he had told her, and in this moment he nearly believes it again; Dorothea seems to be something more than human if she can move him to religious fervor.

He pulls his beautiful idol into a zealous kiss. Dorothea’s tongue slips past his lips, drawing a moan from him. He mentally curses his gloves for keeping his hands from the skin bared by her dress.

“I think… clothes… off…” he gasps between kisses.

Dorothea giggles. “I’m so proud, I’ve finally managed to break your composure, Ferdie.” She looks as well-kissed as Ferdinand feels, her lips slightly swollen and lipstick smeared across her mouth. “But yes, we are both wearing far too many layers.”

With another giggle, she shoves him backwards onto the bed. Her hair falls in dark curtains around their faces as she smiles down at him. Even through the traces of tears, Ferdinand can see that her smile has finally reached her eyes.

His gloves are the first things to go. Dorothea pulls them off slowly, reverently caressing each of his hands as she slides them off. Her hands are not as callused as his, but years of wielding a sword in battle has left her with lines and bumps on her hands that he truly notices for the first time as she briefly presses her palms against his.

When his hands are bare, Ferdinand pulls her into another heated kiss, rolling them onto their sides. One of his hands cradles her neck, thumb stroking over the soft skin along her jaw, and the other finds the open back of her dress and pulls her closer.

Dorothea hooks a leg over his hip, and he drags a hand down to her knee and then slowly, slowly up again under the hem of her skirt. She whines against his mouth as his fingers brush the skin above her stocking. He slips his fingers under one of the straps of her garter and begins to trace circles on the back of her thigh.

This, Ferdinand has done before. Several days previously, Dorothea had led his hand along her thigh until he reached her bare skin, pressing giggly kisses against his jaw as she did. At that time, Ferdinand had done everything in his power to keep Dorothea from feeling just how tight his trousers had become, and excused himself in what he hoped was a gentlemanly manner—before retreating to his room to bring himself off twice.

Now, he has no intention to stop. He trails his fingers toward the inside of Dorothea’s thigh, and she pulls away from Ferdinand’s lips with a sigh of “oh, _Ferdie_ ” as his fingers reach the heated skin near the apex of her legs.

Ferdinand kisses Dorothea’s neck and she gasps, suddenly squeezing her thighs together as much as she can. His fingers brush over the already arousal-damp fabric of her smallclothes, once accidentally from the movement of her legs, and then again deliberately.

Dorothea moans and presses her body even closer, desperate for more contact. Ferdinand is suddenly very aware of the way her hip presses against his erection; he is certain she can feel it too, and he fights his instinct to pull his hips away from hers and apologize for his impropriety. He is sure she would be more alarmed if he was _not_ aroused, with a hand between her legs and her moans in his ears.

His other hand slides down between their bodies to cup one of her breasts. This, too, he has done before, with Dorothea’s hand to guide him, and each time he would excuse himself before long. He allows himself to learn the weight of her breast in his hand, and slides his hand under her crimson outer robe to get closer. It is a tight fit, and he only manages to get his fingers between the layers of fabric.

“Hold on,” Dorothea says, pulling away from Ferdinand and sitting up. Ferdinand whimpers at the loss of her body against his and sits as well.

With practiced, deft movements, Dorothea removes the gleaming silver belt over her garments. She hangs it over the nearest bedpost and begins to remove her lace choker as well. Ferdinand takes the opportunity to pull off his leather boots and set them aside.

“Much better,” Dorothea sighs.

Ferdinand’s breath catches in his throat when he looks back to Dorothea. Without the choker and belt to hold it up, her robe has fallen to her elbows, baring her upper arms and the parts of her chest not covered by her dark slip. The candlelight illuminates her skin in a gold radiance.

“Dorothea,” he whispers when air finally returns to his lungs, “I do not think I have ever seen a more lovely sight.”

“I think you’ve said that to me before.” Dorothea bites her lip and casts her eyes down shyly.

“If I did, it was as true then as it is now.” She meets his gaze, and from the relief in her eyes, Ferdinand knows he said the right thing. “I swear, it was not a mere line.”

Her fingers come to rest on his shoulders. Dorothea smiles, then kisses Ferdinand oh-so gently. She pulls away too soon with another coy smile. Ferdinand chases her lips and she giggles into his mouth when he kisses her again. She drags her hands down his chest as they kiss, searching for the clasps on his jacket.

“Let me help you with that, dear,” he mutters against her mouth when she fumbles with one of the small clasps. They make short work of unbuttoning the jacket together, and Dorothea drops it somewhere beside the bed when Ferdinand frees his arms from the garment.

“Ugh, why do you wear so many layers?” Dorothea teases, pawing at Ferdinand’s vest.

“A noble must be impeccably—”

She cuts him off with a kiss. His hands immediately find her waist to draw her in, only her slip standing between their skin.

“It was a rhetorical question, Ferdie.”

Once, Ferdinand might have feared that Dorothea would be annoyed at him for replying to such a question. But now, he feels her smiling against his lips and thinks that, perhaps, she even _likes_ when he misreads the situation so thoroughly.

He barely notices her undoing his vest, so engrossed as he is in kissing her and running his hands along the curve of her waist. Dorothea pulls his vest down around his elbows and he breaks the kiss to remove it, then his ascot and pin. As he leans to set the pile gently on the ground so as not to lose the pin, Dorothea toes off her shoes and sheds her robe.

Ferdinand scarcely has a chance to admire her figure, now covered only in her dark slip, before she is upon him. For the second time this night, Dorothea pushes Ferdinand back onto the mattress. She climbs atop him so that she is seated precisely on the tent at the front of his trousers.

He lets out a whine that is equal parts pained and aroused—and painfully aroused—as Dorothea grinds down on him and untucks his loose shirt from his trousers. Her hands run up his abdomen under his shirt, then down again, then up once more, pushing his shirt up until most of his chest is bared. Ferdinand can barely see the green in her eyes when she looks down at him, her pupils blown too wide for there to be more than a sliver of malachite around them.

Her hands leave his chest and he whines again at the loss of contact. She quickly undoes the button at the back of his neck without even needing to search for it; Ferdinand wonders if she has ever played breeches roles to be so familiar with this style of shirt, preferred by himself and so many other fashionable young men. He makes a mental note to ask her about it later.

He sits up slightly to help Dorothea remove his shirt. Once she tosses it aside, her hands are on him again. She traces the firm muscles of his chest, his arms, all the while looking as a woman starved.

Her fingers trace circles around Ferdinand’s nipples and he arches into the touch. He had never realized they could be so sensitive, or perhaps it is Dorothea’s touch making it so. She dips her head down to lick at one of the small buds, and he gasps out her name.

Something tickles at the back of Ferdinand’s mind through the fog of his arousal.

“Dorothea,” he says again, trying to clear his head just a little. She hums a reply against his chest. “As much as— _oh_ —as I am enjoying this, I believe I said you should not merely focus on my pleasure.”

She chuckles, her warm mouth at his collarbone, and the vibrations send a fresh wave of heat through Ferdinand’s body.

“Believe me, Ferdie, this is as much for me as it is for you.” Her hands clutch at his upper arms as she presses wet kisses along his neck to his jaw. “You’re so strong, so gorgeous. You have no idea what it does to me when you take off your shirt when you’re training.” 

As if to prove her point, she kisses and licks her way down his body to his navel, poking her tongue into it with a giggle that tickles Ferdinand and nearly makes him laugh as well. “Even when we were students, I loved to watch you train and wait for you to take it off. I may not have been in love with you yet but I certainly was in _lust_.”

Ferdinand goes still as she works her way back up his torso.

“Did you—Dorothea, did you just say you love me?”

He suspected already, in spite of that traitorous voice in his head that whispered that Dorothea would never return his affections, but she had never spoken the words aloud. Ferdinand had declared his love for her many times since his first confession, but Dorothea was always more hesitant to discuss her emotions.

Dorothea freezes for a moment, then sits back.

“Damn,” she mutters. “I was going to say that after we made love. It was going to be so beautiful.” She gives him a crooked smile.

Ferdinand sits up and pulls her into a tight embrace. He settles his face into the crook of her neck and sighs contentedly.

“You love me.”

Dorothea pulls back to look him in the eye. “I love you, Ferdinand von Aegir, with all my heart.”

For as long as he has known her, Dorothea was always the most carefully guarded person Ferdinand knew. Perhaps she had to be, growing up experiencing hardships beyond what Ferdinand could have comprehended when they first met. No matter how charming and radiant Dorothea was, there was always something distant about her.

But when Ferdinand looks into her eyes now, he sees no walls. The brilliant intensity of her unguarded soul enchants him, and he cannot look away.

“Goddess,” he murmurs, and he knows not if he evokes the progenitor or if Dorothea is the only goddess he shall ever worship again. “There is nothing in this world I love as much as you.”

The smile Dorothea gives him is the warmest he’s ever seen, and he can resist no longer. He pulls her into a kiss, his tongue seeking out the shelter of her mouth almost as soon as their lips meet. Her hands rest below his shoulders, and every so often she gives his muscles an appreciative squeeze.

Ferdinand slowly drags his hands from her waist up her back until he finds the knot holding her slip together. He undoes it carefully. Dorothea breaks the kiss for a few seconds to pull the dress over her head and cast it aside. When she kisses him again, her full, bare breasts press against Ferdinand’s own chest.

He leaves one hand against her back, pressing her body to his, and brings the other around to cup one of her breasts. His thumb teases at her nipple, and Dorothea rocks her hips against him and throws her head back with a wordless cry of pleasure. He kisses her neck, and she threads the fingers of both hands into his hair as he kisses his way down to her other breast.

“Ferdie, please,” she moans as he circles her nipple with his tongue. “So good, my love…”

Ferdinand moans too at the pet name. Dorothea’s fingers gently scratch at his scalp and there is nothing else in the world that matters.

“I need—oh!” Her plea is interrupted when Ferdinand sucks once on her nipple. “I need you inside me, Ferdie…”

He goes dizzy when somehow, even more blood rushes away from his head. With a slow, steadying breath, he sits up and presses his nose to hers.

“Your wish is my command.”

Dorothea kisses him ferociously, tugging at his lower lip with her teeth before diving back in with her tongue. Her fingers tighten in his hair, and she swallows down Ferdinand’s cry of pleasure.

They part for air, and he takes in her swollen lips—all traces of lipstick completely gone—and lust-glazed eyes like he is admiring a fine painting.

“So, um…” Dorothea’s voice is quiet, hesitant. “Do you want me to be on top or would you rather be...?”

“Whichever is more pleasurable for you,” Ferdinand replies breathlessly. Images of both options flash through his mind and his breathing stutters.

“Well, that’s the thing, you see.” One of her hands drops to his shoulder. She twirls a loose curl around her finger, eyes fixed on the orange lock. “I don’t really know which feels better. I haven’t exactly had any great experiences in the past, and it’s been so long…”

“Oh, Dorothea…” Ferdinand cradles her jaw with one hand. She leans into his touch with a feeble laugh.

“That’s the past, though.” She gives him a slightly sad smile. Ferdinand has half a mind to track down and fight everyone who had ever touched Dorothea before, to make them regret not treating her with the adoration she deserves; he would if she asked. She shakes her head. “Anyway, um. I think… I think I want you to be on top.”

He nods. Words fail him, so instead he kisses her once, twice, thrice as she lies back against the pillows.

Ferdinand settles himself beside her for now. He traces a hand over her body and watches her shiver in response to his touch. He maps out the parts of her body that elicit the strongest reactions—her breasts, neck, thighs, and the low curve of her stomach.

When his fingers graze her inner thigh for the third time, Dorothea stretches her arms above her head and arches her back with a pleased sigh.

“Ferdie, dear, would you help me get the last of my clothes off?”

Her lips are curled in a sultry smile, and Ferdinand presses a kiss to them as he brings both hands to her garter belt. He does not bother to detach the straps from her stockings, merely undoing the belt and slowly, slowly sliding it and her smallclothes down her legs all together.

Ferdinand can scarcely hear over the pounding of his heart by the time her long, pale legs are fully bare. Dorothea parts her legs and Ferdinand feels as though he is frozen in place, caught between his desire for her and uncertainty about what to do.

“You can touch me, Ferdie.”

The words are enough to break the spell holding him in place. Ferdinand kneels between her legs and runs his hands up her thighs. He stills when his fingers have almost reached the place where her legs meet. He seeks out her eyes and meets their silent plea with his own gaze as his right hand travels the final distance.

Dorothea’s eyes flutter shut and her lips part with a small moan as Ferdinand’s fingers brush against the wetness between her legs. His first touch is light, almost hesitant, but Dorothea’s moan provides him with the courage he needs to press against her more firmly.

Ferdinand thinks back to the vulgar literature and illustrations that had been passed around Garreg Mach when he was still a student. At the time, he did not know if he was more ashamed of just how much he reacted to them or of how his mind would always supply Dorothea’s face when he imagined the heroines of those bawdy tales. He knew that, as a young man like any other, he was expected to have certain _urges_ , but detested himself for dirtying the purity of his love for Dorothea with such base desires.

He realizes, now, that his love for her is no less pure for mingling with desire. That he has Dorothea’s love and her desire in return is nothing short of divine, and he will take all the blessings he can get in these accursèd times.

And besides that, he does have those books to thank for knowing to drag his fingers to the front of her sex, to seek out the sensitive bud that lies there. He does not know precisely what to feel for, but he knows when he finds it by the way Dorothea throws her head back with a soft cry. He strokes at that spot again and watches her body tremble from his movements.

After several moments, Ferdinand slides his fingers lower, slipping one carefully into Dorothea’s body. He moves his finger slowly in and out, relishing the soft heat around it before adding another. Dorothea spreads her legs a little more with a pleased sigh.

Ferdinand brings his thumb to her bud, rubbing it in time with the movement of his fingers inside her. Dorothea moans loudly and then bites her lip, cutting off the sound.

“There is no need to hold back, darling. Let me hear you.”

“Ferdie, please,” she cries out. Ferdinand slows his hand, dragging his thumb with more pressure that makes Dorothea gasp. “Please, make love to me…”

It is Ferdinand’s turn to gasp; at Dorothea’s words, his mind goes blank save for wanting to please his beloved. He slowly withdraws his fingers from Dorothea—she groans at the loss—and hastily undoes the laces at the front of his trousers.

He pulls his trousers and smallclothes down at once and hisses when his erection is finally free of its confines. After being trapped for so long, Ferdinand is unsure exactly how long he’ll actually last, albeit somewhat proud that he managed to avoid spilling in his trousers. Dorothea raises herself slightly on her elbows, and after he casts aside trousers, smallclothes, and stockings in an ungraceful pile, Ferdinand sees that she is staring at his member with dark, hungry eyes.

Ferdinand crawls over her and, in a fit of confidence resulting from Dorothea’s gaze, says, “I take it you like what you see?”

“Hmm, I think so,” Dorothea says, fluttering her eyelashes up at him as he tangles one hand in her hair and runs the other along her hip. “I’d need to feel to be sure, though.”

And she does, wrapping a hand around him as she uses the other to pull him into a kiss. Her fingers feel nothing like his, and he bucks eagerly into her soft grip.

Dorothea breaks the kiss and presses her forehead against Ferdinand’s. “Are you ready?” she asks in a breathless whisper.

“Are you?”

She gives him a gentle peck on the lips. “For you, Ferdie? Of course.”

Ferdinand lets out a soft “ _oh”_ when the tip of his erection first brushes against Dorothea. She rubs the head through her wet folds a few times, and it takes all of Ferdinand’s self-control not to move his hips. But soon enough, she guides him to her entrance.

He watches her face as he enters her for the first time. Her eyebrows tighten for a split second before her face goes slack, her lips parting with a long sigh as he moves deeper into her.

The feeling of finally being inside Dorothea is better than Ferdinand had even imagined. It is not merely the physical sensations—although the heat and pressure of her body are absolutely sublime—but also the knowledge that he is connected so intimately with _Dorothea_ that overwhelms him. He stills once his hips meet hers, breathing deeply and allowing his body to learn the feel of hers around him.

She tucks a lock of hair behind his ear and beams up at him. He brushes the tip of his nose against hers, matching her smile.

“Wow,” he breathes, all eloquence failing him.

Dorothea giggles. “That good?”

Ferdinand can only nod. She pulls him into a kiss and wraps her legs around his hips. He moans into her mouth as he shifts even deeper within her.

“Ferdie, please…”

Dorothea’s voice has long been Ferdinand’s favorite sound in the world, and it has never sounded sweeter than tonight. Her pleas in that honeyed voice may as well have ensorcelled him, for he could not resist even if he wanted to.

Slowly, he pulls his hips back until he nearly slips out of her, and pushes in again. Dorothea clutches at his back, and any sound she might make is drowned out by Ferdinand’s own moan.

His thrusts soon become more confident—he always has been a quick study. He settles into a comfortable rhythm, rolling his hips onto Dorothea’s as her little cries of pleasure become a consistent score to their lovemaking. Ferdinand feels himself slowly building to his climax, a simmering heat low in his stomach, but there is no urgency. Both are content to rock together, trading searing kisses to lips and necks.

After some time, Dorothea snakes a hand between their bodies. Ferdinand feels her fingers brush against him where he’s buried inside her as she begins to stroke herself to hasten her orgasm.

“Allow me, love.”

She kisses him as he replaces her hand with his. He begins to rub circles around her sensitive nub in time with his thrusts and she brings her hand to his back. Her other hand tightens in his hair and he cries out against her mouth; he is surrounded by her, and even with the war raging around them he cannot think of a time when he has ever been happier.

Dorothea’s breaths begin to come in ragged gasps.

“More, Ferdie, I need more.”

Ferdinand picks up the speed of his fingers and hips. Dorothea cries out.

“So perfect, Ferdie, love you…”

He kisses the corner of her mouth. “And I love you, Dorothea.”

“Don’t know if I can hold back,” she whimpers.

“Then let go.”

She does.

Ferdinand cries out along with Dorothea as her body tightens around him. It takes all of his self-control to keep from spilling in her then, and he slows his movements with a deep breath. Dorothea continues to writhe under him, desperate to prolong the euphoria of her climax, and so Ferdinand sets his jaw and matches her once more.

Her body continues to spasm around him even as her legs uncross and fall slack to either side. She strokes his cheek tenderly as his thrusts become unsteady.

“You were so good, Ferdie…”

With a sharp gasp, Ferdinand pulls out of her and takes himself in hand. It only takes a few quick strokes before he goes taught and spends himself across her stomach, his body burning with pleasure.

He collapses on his side next to Dorothea, matching his heavy breaths to hers. She turns her head to look at him with a wide smile.

They lie together in comfortable silence as their breathing returns to normal. Ferdinand tries to count all of Dorothea’s eyelashes but keeps losing track somewhere around thirty.

Eventually, she sits up.

“I should clean off.”

As she swings her legs over the side of the bed, Ferdinand feels a blush forming.

“I hope you do not mind that I, ah, _released_ on you like that.”

Dorothea laughs as she walks unsteadily to her washbasin. “Oh, Ferdie, you’re so cute. You just fucked my brains out but you can’t even say the word _cum_.”

His cheeks grow hotter, more from her teasing than her coarse language if he had to guess. He buries his face in her pillow with a groan.

“It’s probably best, though,” she continues. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to Manuela about the right herbs and elixirs so I don’t get pregnant.”

Ferdinand can feel the blush spreading from his face. “Must you go to Manuela?” he grumbles dramatically, lifting his head from the pillow so she can hear him.

The bed dips as Dorothea sits once more. “Who else am I supposed to ask? Linhardt? Besides, I think she’ll be happy for us.”

“I suppose you have a point.”

He props himself up on his elbows and turns to look at her. She is smiling softly, a damp washcloth in her hands, and her hair has fallen in front of her breasts. She is breathtaking.

“Do you want…?” She gestures at his body with the cloth.

He sits up the rest of the way and plucks the cloth from her hands. As he wipes at all the places on his body where he can feel her slick drying, she speaks again.

“I wanted to—You’ll stay the night, right?”

Ferdinand drapes the cloth over her headboard and takes her chin in his hand. Her expression is timid, like she expects him to say no. He gives her a brief, chaste kiss.

“Of course, my love. Always.”

Dorothea pulls him into a tight embrace. His arms wrap around her instinctively and he buries his face in her hair.

“I’m sorry, I know it was a silly question…”

Ferdinand’s heart clenches, and he bites his tongue before he can do something foolish like propose to her here and now just to set her mind at ease; he knows that he will ask her to be his wife someday, but he has _plans_ for that and they do not involve her nearly crying into his shoulder after they made love.

“I hope that someday, you will never doubt it, but until then,” he kisses her forehead, “until then, you may ask as many times as you need.”

She tilts her head up to meet his gaze, emerald eyes shining. “I love you so much, Ferdie.”

“You deserve so much more than what this world has given you, Dorothea.” He kisses her again, and again, and again as they fall to the bed once more. “And I swear, I shall give it to you tenfold.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ferdie's POV was so fun to write. I just let myself be completely pretentious, it was great.
> 
> You can find me on twitter [@YourGirlRatBaby](https://twitter.com/YourGirlRatBaby) if you want to scream about ferdithea with me (or hubernie or linmari/marihardt or other FE3H stuff). Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


End file.
